August 2019
Minneapolis
Sofia clicked over to Kate’s Instagram page.
Several people had left sad comments under the picture of Kate and Lily.
One girl, Lauren Mitchell, a name Sofia didn’t recognize, said something interesting in a comment under the picture. “Do you think that creep upped his game?”
Rumors had been circulating the U of M campus for about six months about a guy who hung out at Lucky’s raping women he met there. But nobody would come forward.
Another girl wrote. “I know who you are talking about. OMG! I saw him talking to Kate a few weeks before that.”
Then, the first girl wrote, “Does anybody know if he was there the night she died?”
Heart pounding, Sofia immediately sent a follow request to the first girl, Lauren.
The request was accepted and Sofia shot her a direct message.
“I’m worried this guy was the same one who tried to grab me the other night. Can you tell me his name or what he looks like?”
She waited, pulse racing.
Then a message and link to a Facebook page popped up. The guy’s name was Jake Walker. “I don’t say his name publicly in case it’s slander or whatever, but this is the guy.”
Some young people do use Facebook.
“Oh. I guess it isn’t the same guy. Thanks.” Sofia wrote. Then at the last minute, wrote. “Stay safe.”
She clicked on the link to Jake Walker’s page. The first place she looked was his friends. Yep. He was friends with Kate. Her heart thudded.
Sofia spent the next hour scrolling through his posts.
She paused on one. He had posted an article from an obscure magazine she’d never heard of something called “Doing It.” She clicked on it. It was about rough sex being confused with rape. Her throat grew dry.
But then she reminded herself: the coroner’s office said that Kate hadn’t been raped.
She lingered on Walker’s page, eyes narrowed, looking at his face wondering if it was the face of a killer. On another post, a guy had posted a sexy picture of French actress Isabelle Huppert and said, “Since you dig Cougars.”
He’d replied. “Like ‘em young and old. Makes no difference to me.”
Just then a message came across on her Instagram account. It was from Lauren.
“A friend warned me that Jake is going to Lucky’s tonight.”
Sofia quickly typed. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Looking back at the Facebook page, she scrolled down a little further.
Then her heart stopped. There was a little icon of Kate’s picture attached to a comment. “Sorry, but the Patriots wiped the floor with your Packers today.”
“Them’s fighting words,” he wrote back. And then underneath, “I’ll arm wrestle you tonight at Lucky's.” The date was several weeks earlier.
Right below it was a photo. It was of her Kate. Sofia’s hand reached for the screen wanting to touch her daughter’s smiling face. Kate was standing with Jake. He had his arm slung over her shoulder. Sofia pressed her thumb over his face, pushing hard until the screen of her laptop bent back toward the table until it could go no further without breaking.
Standing suddenly, she slammed her laptop closed, feeling adrenaline rush through her. She needed to get out of the house. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes trying to calm herself.
Murderous desire raged through her. All her life Sofia had lived in fear that she would turn out like her father. That she had killer blood running through her veins.
And now, now that the worst thing possible had happened to her, she didn’t know if she could fight it any longer. She dreamed about it. She thought about it most of her day. But she had to know who the killer was. Had to know without a doubt. When she imagined Kate’s killer the face blurred, became hazy, morphing in and out as Jake, Ali, the neighbor.
She could see it vividly. She’d knock on a front door and when the killer—the blurred face murderer—answered, she’d fire a bullet right into his forehead. Jason kept a handgun and ammunition near the front door on the top shelf of the closet. She could put on gloves, get the gun down, load it …
She shook the image away.
God help her. If she killed someone that meant she was just like her father. But a small voice inside her said No, you’re not. He’s a monster. You are not.
She was going crazy. She needed to talk to someone. Cecile had been so helpful in reassuring her about Jason, but even Cecile wouldn’t understand this.
Sofia needed to talk to a professional. Someone who would stop her. Because more than anything, when she found out who the killer was for sure, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.